


Cold is the night

by randomnickname



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Hooker AU, M/M, One Shot, kinda sad and depressing, realistic prostitution with all the nasty shit that entails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 03:53:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomnickname/pseuds/randomnickname
Summary: "That's my spot. Get lost."Giriko and Justin as rival hookers.





	Cold is the night

Giriko takes a nervous sip from his flask, then shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. He can barely feel his fingertips anymore. He didn't think it'd be that fucking cold, or that fucking lonely in front of this parking lot on the outer city ring. Frontlights blind him each time a car passes by, but he doesn't turn away, nor disappear in the shadows of the concrete pillars like he wants to. If this is to work he needs to be seen, after all.

The fabric of his fishnet tanktop is itchy on his bare skin - he wonders why Arachne bought it, it's so unpleasant. He never saw her wear it before she got jailed, spent a few moments fingering at it in surprise when he found it in her cupboard. Well, at least now it's getting a proper use.

And what a use. Every time he squints at passing cars, trying for a somewhat inviting expression, he can't help but ask himself if there's no other way for him to make quick cash. But he's thought this over and over again, and sees no better solution. He needs Arachne's bail money, and he needs it fast. He's the last one on the line, the one Arachne relies upon, and he can't allow himself any unnecessary risks. Cops around here know his face too well, and anyway running a robbery on his own is not a safe option. And real jobs - well, they ask questions he can't answer, ask for papers and work permits he doesn't have. No, this is better, quicker. And he likes sex, is good as it as far as he can tell, so who cares, right?

Still. It'll be weird as all hell, that's for sure.

He shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable in those pants, tighter than he's used to. Numbness spreads on his skin, but he can't even zip his white leather jacket close - his muscular chest's his best asset.

He's been waiting for thirty minutes, and nothing so far. A few cars slowed down, but drove on before he could make out the driver's faces. But no cops in sight, which is a big relief. If he's to be arrested, he'd rather have it be for murder or theft than for prostitution.

"Hey!"

He turns. Some young, blond guy is standing a few feet away and staring at him with undisguised hostility, fists on his hips.

"That's my spot. Get lost," he says.

It takes Giriko a few seconds to make sense of that statement. But then he notices the jeans sitting low on the hips, the plunging cleavage of a white t-shirt far too flimsy for that cool night, and comprehension dawns on him. He gives the man his best threatening glare.

"Just fuck off and go hustle somewhere else," he grunts, and demonstratively leans back against a pillar with crossed arms, making clear he's going nowhere. "City's big enough."

The man scoffs. "Look, darling, I'm not going to chase for a good spot around town like some kind of crack whore. If you want to compete, fine by me, it won't be to your advantage."

That's true - the guy's a looker, narrow waist and strong shoulders, features chiseled like a runway model. But no way Giriko's budging. It took him long enough to decide where to stand in the first place.

The man takes a few steps forward, strategically positioning himself in a pool of neon light, looks Giriko up and down. "Who are you trying to hook dressed like that, anyway - some 80s porn mags addict?"

Giriko feels a blush rise in his cheeks. He mutters a "fuck you", takes a swig of brandy to give himself some countenance.

"At least it doesn't make me look like I'm fifteen years old," he finally counters, lamely.

The man laughs, short and humorless. "Honey, that's _exactly_ the point."

"What?"

"Come on, don't tell me you don't know how this works," the man says with a sly smile. When Giriko just gapes, confused, he clears his throat, and when he next speaks his voice is soft and hesitant, much younger than just a moment before. His pale eyes, done with eyeliner or some shit to make them look bigger, are huge and scared, his lip quivers.

"My daddy liked me too much," he says, one fist shyly brought to his mouth. "And he hurt me, but still ... I just want someone to tell me I'm beautiful again. You want to be my new daddy, sir?" 

Giriko feels vaguely nauseated. "... That's fucking gross," he chokes out.

The young man shrugs, his face switching from fearful to bored in the matter of a heartbeat. "Meh. My work ethic is simple," he says in his normal voice. "If they pay good, I strictly don't care." 

Giriko turns away, creeped out, and kicks a stray can. Is that something he'll have to do, too? Play coy or submissive? He doesn't think he's got that in him.

As if he's reading his thought, the other pipes up. "So what's  _your_ deal? How'd you reel johns in? Bet those big muscles of yours don't come in that handy. Most of them want to feel stronger than you, even the lazy fatasses."

Giriko doesn't answer. He hasn't given the topic much thought so far - usually he's the one doing the approach, chatting up a hot girl or guy at the bar, and then often enough they say yes. Easy peasy. He's not used to being standing on the sidewalk to be ogled at like a piece of meat in the butcher's display. But he looks good, should be enough, no?

Some of his insecurity must be showing, because the other eyes him sharply, and then exclaims, in the sound of a revelation, "Oh. Oh! This is your first gig?!"

Giriko, feeling slightly mortified, shoots him a sideway look, then nods. The other laughs again, but this time there's some sympathy mixed in there.

"Welcome to the glorious world of prostitution, then," the man says with a little smile. "Always wear condoms."

"'M not fucking stupid," Giriko grumbles, but still pats his pocket just in case. He's got his flask, condoms, lube, and a knife for safety. Not that he can't, or hasn't, killed a man with his bare fists, but still.

He straightens up as a car slows down, but it's gone soon after. 

The blond sighs irritatedly. "You're scaring away all the customers with your thug looks. You're sure you don't want to get yourself another spot?"

"I'm sure you'll find someone to fuck you, don't worry," Giriko retorts.

"Of course, I always do," the man says with a haughty huff. "Have you looked at me? I just don't want to have to wait just because the clients think you're going to mug them."

Giriko feels pissed off. "Look, asshole," he says with a glower. "Just mind your fucking business, okay? I fuck plenty people without mugging them. People  _want_ me to fuck them - I can be all charming when I need to." 

The other looks unimpressed. "Well that's reassuring. Then charm away, I'm not holding you back. Go on." He makes a kind of shooing gesture with his hand, then starts pointedly studying his nails.

Giriko stomps forward a few steps, seething, and stands real close to the road, letting his jacket drop down to his elbows to reveal his broad shoulders, despite the cold. Fuck that guy. Of course he can be charming! He tries to smile, even if it feels wrong and frozen on his face.

A few minutes later, a blue SUV pulls over, and the passenger's window is lowered. Fucking finally.

Trying not to think about it too much, Giriko props an elbow on the window ledge and smirks at the driver. It's a man in his late thirties, looking bland but not ugly, with a somewhat nervous smile. That would do.

"Hey there," Giriko says. "How bout a round of nice fun for you and I, huh? We could -"

His gaze falls on the rear bench. On the baby seat on the rear bench. 

A sneer of disgust curls his lips, and he looks back towards the driver, eyes cold like death. The man's eyes widen in fear.

"I - I - it's... I -" he stutters, but then he just pushes the button to close the window, and Giriko has to step back  to prevent his arm from getting squashed . A second later the car drives away with screeching wheels.

Behind him there's a slow clap. "Impeccable technique," the blond drawls. "I rate your charming skills a solid B+."

Giriko stares at the disappearing taillights of the SUV. '"There was a freakin' baby seat," he says, fists clenching and unclenching in revulsion. "Bastard was a family father."

"So what? Most johns are. Or did you think only single gay men go to visit the whores? You can't afford to be naive if you want to suceed in this job."

He gazes over his shoulder - the blond is giving him an almost pitying look. When is the last time Giriko has been called naive? He's got too much blood on his hands to justify that appellation nowadays. 

"I don't want to fuck family fathers," he still says. 

"To blow them," the young man corrects. "70% of it is blowjobs. And as I said, you can't afford being picky."

He stretches, nimble like a cat, exposing a taut white stomach, then strolls forward. "Step aside, honey. Watch and learn."

Giriko retreats to the shadows of the parking lot with no protest, still strumming with loathing. He watches the blond pace back and forth, cocking a hip and striking a pose everytime a car approaches. It looks like a well-rehearsed theater part, or maybe a dance routine. How many time does one has to go streetwalking to achieve that level of confidence?

It's barely a minute before a pick-up halts. Giriko can vaguely make out the driver, an older guy with horn-rimmed glasses and a cowboy hat. 

The young man leans against the door. "Hiya, cowboy," he croons. "Want me to ride your big stallion?"

There's an answer Giriko can't make out, but he can imagine it well enough, because next the blond says, "Full service is 170."

Another faint answer. Then, "150, no less."

They seem to reach an agreement because the blond nods and opens the passenger door. He turns back before he climbs in the car, and shoots Giriko a saucy wink.

The pick-up departs. Giriko remains standing on his lonesome, his breath forming white puffs in front of his nose. 

He stares after the pick-up for a while, then puts aside the queasy feeling in his stomach and walks back to the road. He's got clients to find.

*

It's another car from which the blond man jumps out three hours later. He laughs at something, waves the retreating car goodbye and makes a beeline for the parking lot. Only then does he notices Giriko, hunched in a corner with his hands trapped beneath his armpits. He raises an eyebrow.

"You're still there?" he calls without slowing down.

Giriko only grunts, his teeth chattering, and watches him roam past. The blond is back a minute later, a sportsback slung over his shoulder and a toothbrush in his mouth. He must have hidden his bag beneath a car.

"Dijn't think I'd shee you again," he says, dripping toothpaste. "Any succshesh sho far?"

Well.

Giriko's first client certainly doesn't count as such. He had wanted Giriko to strip, and no problem there, he had nothing to be ashamed of. 

What had been more problematic was him shoving a finger in Giriko's ass without warning. 

Giriko had yelped, punched the man in the face, and jumped out of the car butt-naked, his arms full of clothes and his heartbeat racing madly. He had quickly dressed while the client bled and cursed behind him, and refrained the urge to turn back and strangle that asshole to death.

It had took him a long moment and the rest of his brandy flask to retrieve his nerve. 

With the next man he had agreed on a blowjob and fifty bucks. It had went okay, the man's hand too tight in Giriko's hair but the entire act mercifully short. But then that bastard had refused to pay, and it had took Giriko unsheathing his 9-inch blade for him to reluctantly hand over rumpled bills. Giriko didn't lower his knife, and the man had added a few bills and tried to run him over with his car afterwards. 

"Not really," he grumbles in the blond's direction.

The young man gives him a commiserating look. "Firsht time ish never fun, I guesh."

Giriko shrugs. He feels absolutely miserable, cold and disgusted and vulnerable in an way that's entirely foreign to who he is. But he can't give up yet - he has promised himself to raise at least a few hundreds tonight. A week or two of that game, and he could have enough grands to pay for Arachne's release. She won't be pleased when she finds out  that besides  himself,  he has also sold her jewelry .

"And you?" he asks, more to distract himself from the turmoil in his stomach than out of real interest.

The blond spits out a mouthful of toothpaste, wipes his mouth on his wrist. "Great," he says easily. "Met some of cowboy's friends. Bunch of married idiots on the down low, but they only wanted to watch, not to touch, so it was good money."

"Cool," Giriko says. His voice rings hollow to his own ears.

The man watches him silently for a few moments. Then he crams in his sports bag, and throws something in his direction. Giriko snatches it out of the air. 

"Here, it will do you some good."

It's a candy bar.

"...Twinkie?" Giriko says, and a startled laughter escapes his frozen lips.

The man grins, and unwraps his own Twinkie. His smile is beautiful when it's sincere. "Bought them for the joke, but they are quite good actually," he says, and takes a bite.

Giriko slides down the concrete wall to sit on the cold floor, and eats his candy bar. It's extremely sweet, and he feels something inside him thaw as he swallows down the few bites of industrial sponge cake. It chases the rubbery taste of condom, so that he could almost believe this is a night like any other.

"Mind if I sit?"

Giriko shakes his head, and the blond sits down cross-legged, a meter to his left. 

They're silent for a while, then the blond says, "So do you think you'll try this again?"

Giriko shrugs, stares at the dark road. Maybe by sunlight he'll be able to muster up some courage again, brush off this entire experience as a necessary measure. But right now the thought of having to smile at some stranger again is so loathsome that it stings.

"Not everybody's cut out for whoring," the man says, eyes almost kind. "No shame in that. You'll find some other ways to make money."

Giriko curls in on himself some more. "T's all not quick enough. Need the money soon." He doesn't know why he says that aloud; not like he wants the other's pity. He blames alcohol and exhaustion for bringing some of his barriers down.

"You're owing someone?"

"Nah. T's not for me."

The man makes a dubious face. "You're being pimped or what?"

Giriko shakes his head. "Complicated."

"Hm."

Giriko shoots the blond a sideway look - he seems relaxed, chin propped on one fist, handsome face open. His eyeliner is smudged a bit.

Then he returns Giriko's gaze, eyes flashing in the neon light. They stare at each other for a few heartbeats, the man's expression inscrutable, but intense. He eventually looks away, clearing his throat.

"Anyway, if you really want to get into this business you should change something about your appearance," he declares.

One of his hands is drumming a hectic beat on his thigh, Giriko observes. He has an inkling as to what that might mean, and feels a little smirk spread on his face despite the cold .

"What, got a problem with my appearance?" he slowly drawls.

"That's not the point," the blond retorts too quickly, and Giriko's smirk widens. "But your piercings, your hair, that screams wild, and most guys don't like wild."

Giriko leans forward, just a bit. "And what's your stand on it?"

The man blinks in surprise, hesitates, but then there's a flash of white teeth as he smiles, sincere again. 

"I don't mind a little wild," he says, and his hand drops to the right in the empty space between them. 

"The night is still young." His eyes on Giriko are warm. "Got any plans?"

Giriko is tired. Drained. He'd like nothing more than go home, take a shower, and drink himself to sleep. 

Except he kind of does.

He slowly, carefully places his hand on top of the others.

"Take me somewhere warm."


End file.
